


Brown M&Ms

by carriecmoney



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Physical Disability, Shance Secret Santa 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-25 11:27:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17120498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carriecmoney/pseuds/carriecmoney
Summary: Allura sighed through the headset, static blowing in Shiro’s ear.“We really need to find you some more… polite help,”she said, her temple-rubbing audible even across the Atlantic.“I don’t get enough sleep as it is, much less when I have to worry about your street rat stabbing a photographer.”How model!Shiro got his assistant!Lance. Written for the Shance Secret Santa.





	Brown M&Ms

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EggheadJade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EggheadJade/gifts).



> {A/N: If you've never heard the brown M&Ms Van Halen story, check it out [here](https://www.npr.org/sections/therecord/2012/02/14/146880432/the-truth-about-van-halen-and-those-brown-m-ms). I had a lot of fun with this, so thanks to Jade for the inspo :) [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com) [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney) [art that goes with this AU](https://twitter.com/carriecmoney/status/1077542988832825344?s=19)}

The sun was barely up, but a fully awake Shiro leant against the counter of his and Keith’s tiny kitchen, munching on an apple and watching his oldest friend tear apart their living room. In theory, breakfast should be the only quiet moment in his busy Tuesday, but he forgot to take into consideration other people.

“It was right _here_ ,” Keith swore, throwing around the throw pillows on their couch and scowling at its beaten suede. “Where the _fuck_ is it?”

“Check under the couch yet?” Shiro offered through an apple bite, getting a dirty look in return. Shiro shrugged. “I mean, it’s been there before.”

Keith grumbled, but fell to his knees to look under the couch. “ _Ugh._ ” He stuck his whole arm under there, wiggling around until he extracted it and his beat-up old pocketknife. He pointed it at Shiro, scowling over it. “You put it there.”

Shiro chuckled. “I’m not dumb enough to touch your knife.” Keith grumbled, but didn’t fight it, ramming it the back pocket of his jeans. Shiro finished off his apple and threw the core in the compost bin under the sink, rinsing off his hand and wiping it dry on his jeans. “Are you ready to go now, then?”

“I’ve _been_ ready.” Keith yanked on his gloves. “Get your arms and let’s _go_.”

“Someone’s touchy this morning,” Shiro commented as he picked up his duffel. Keith took it from him before he could put it on his shoulder, though, slinging it over his own instead and stomping to the door. Shiro smiled as he put on his coat and checked his phone – a missed call from Allura. Oops. He stuck his Bluetooth in his ear and called her back as Keith gave his dog a final scratch and locked the door.

“ _Are you even out of bed yet?_ ” Allura’s crisp English accent snapped at him.

“Well, good morning to you, too. You and Keith should meet up and have beautiful, morning-hating babies.”

“Shiro, I will drop your arm in the subway if you don’t shut the fuck up,” Keith growled, leading the way to their stairwell.

“ _I second the motion_.”

Shiro rolled his eyes. “To answer your question, yes, we just left home.” Keith gripped the stair railings and swung down the whole stairs, landing with a hard _thud_ on the landing below. “ _Keith!_ ”

“Get off my _dick_ ,” Keith called back up at him without looking.

Allura sighed through the headset, static blowing in Shiro’s ear. “ _We really need to find you some more… polite help,_ ” she said, her temple-rubbing audible even across the Atlantic. “ _I don’t get enough sleep as it is, much less when I have to worry about your street rat stabbing a photographer_.”

“Allura, isn’t it, like, noon over there?” Shiro asked, making his way down the stairs one at a time like a normal person. Keith kept on Tarzan swinging down the four flights, each _thump_ sending sympathy pangs through Shiro’s legs. “Did you seriously just wake up?”

“ _It’s what happens when you’re up until six in the bloody morning dealing with you night owl Americans!_ ” Something on the other end rustled, the break long enough for Shiro to get all the way down the stairs and out onto the street. “ _Do you want to hear today’s schedule?_ ” she moaned at last, half-muffled. Shiro smiled.

“I know I’m on my way to PT now,” he said. “Why don’t I call you back when I’m done in an hour or so?”

“ _I should argue, but I’m too tired,_ ” she grumbled. “ _Just know you’ve got a full day ahead, okay?”_

“When don’t I?” Keith stopped a few yards ahead of him at the top of the subway steps, looking back at him with arms crossed and toes tapping. “Go sleep a little more,” he reassured her. “I’ll be here when you get up, princess.”

“ _Eat shit and die_.” She hung up on him.

He laughed, Keith falling into step with him down into the subway, dodging other pedestrians and worn-out steps. Shiro bumped into Keith’s side at the bottom. “Lighten up, kid,” he said. “At least it’s not raining!”

“Why did I get cursed with you?” Keith growled. Shiro just laughed.

* * *

Physical therapy went fine, as always – they yelled at him for wearing his arm too much, he got a massage out of it, business as usual. By the time he escaped, Allura had finished waking up, putting on the voice she showed everyone but him as she rattled off a long list of appointments and locations over the international call that she sent as calendar notices anyway, like the overachiever she was. He flipped through them as he and Keith trained over to the first one – a fitting for a show he was doing in a few weeks. Allura always made sure to schedule his fittings earlier than most models – somehow, they were never quite sure how to deal with Shiro’s arm without at least one extra trial run. After that, he had a shoot straight through lunch, then a last minute audition it looked like Coran had wrangled for him in the night with a “SORRY!!” and a string of emojis that Allura would never use attached to the notice, and then another photoshoot. He frowned – the afternoon shoot had changed their mind and wanted his flower arm, apparently. He hadn’t packed that one this morning… maybe Keith could run back and get it during the audition.

Keith kicked his ankle as the train ground to a stop. “C’mon.” Shiro unhooked his hook from the pole he had been braced on, winking at the little boy who had been staring at it the whole ride, and followed Keith out onto the platform. It was chilly up on the street, which meant it was a stagnant cold down here in the bowels of the city, dark bundles bumping into each other as they lived their own lives, millions of threads latticing over a closeknit loom, chaotic up close but a pattern at a distance. Shiro had been living in New York off and on most of his life, but he always found something new to see each day.

The appeal was long lost on Keith, though. “Fucking tourists,” he grumbled, fighting past a loud German crowd spread across three-fourths of the stairs all the way up to the street. Shiro squeezed through them, holding his hook close to his body so it wouldn’t get jostled, eyes on his feet.

The air at the exit felt nice, blowing over Shiro’s face and calming him down a little. The fitting studio was just a few blocks away, a place he had been to a few times before so he probably wouldn’t get lost, but he was still glad that Keith was there. Even though Keith wasn’t paid for this and didn’t have to come, having Keith at his side in all these unfamiliar situations with new people poking and prodding at him kept him from freaking out and making him seem even more like a spoiled, disabled model than the long contract rider Allura had made him tack on a few months ago. He didn’t really like who he was when he folded in on himself in the middle of a shoot – he was supposed to be a _professional_ , not some needy Mariah Carey type who couldn’t perform unless everything was just so. But, as Allura kept reminding him, he was finally in demand enough that he could be a _little_ picky, and his continuing business despite his skyrocketing rates proved it. If this kept up, he could get away with sponsoring Keith’s first semester at that cooking school he had been stalking for so long as his Christmas present…

They got to the studio for the fitting a few minutes early. Keith held the door for Shiro and followed him in, a shadow at his shoulder. The too-young girl at the front desk looked up at the door chime, bright-eyed and oh no, she was going to talk to him, wasn’t she? She smiled, too wide and empty. “Hello, welcome to Alma! How can I help you?”

Keith elbowed past him to stand between Shiro and the desk. “This is Shiro,” he said in his indoor voice growl. “He’s on your list.”

“Oh?” She blinked a few times, smile falling as she shuffled around papers on her desk, keyboard clacking. “Oh – oh, you’re here for Henry’s fitting, right?” She tried another smile on them, but when Keith just glared, she bit her lip and picked up the desk phone, dialing one of the extensions. “Mr. Henry’s model is here for him,” she said into the handset. She listened to the other line for a moment, then nodded and said, “Okay, thanks,” before hanging it up and smiling at them again. “Someone will be right down to get you,” she told them. “Can I get you anything? Water, maybe?”

Shiro smiled. “Water would be great.” She ducked down to rummage in the mini-fridge under her desk, handing him a condensating bottle of water with a hopeful smile. Keith took it instead, guiding Shiro to some of the chairs set against the wall. They both sat down, Keith digging through Shiro’s duffel for his infuser bottle, pouring the too-cold water in over today’s oranges and strawberries. Shiro sighed. “You know, you _could_ be nicer to the service employees,” he mumbled, too low for the front desk’s wandering ears to pick up. “It’s not _her_ job to read my contract in detail.”

“Yeah, but it is her _boss’s_.” He capped the infuser bottle and shook it around, then set it aside for it to come back to room temperature. “They could pass the fucking word along.”

“Be _nice_.” Shiro smiled back when the poor girl beamed over her computer at them. “Do you really expect every agency to meet their models at the door with coffee and a backrub?” he murmured out of the corner of his mouth.

“ _Yes_.” Shiro shook his head and picked up his water bottle, sipping on it as Keith stewed. The ice cold water did make his teeth ache a little, but it was fine. He wasn’t picky. He could put up with anything.

* * *

Shiro was picky, and he hated it.

He hadn’t wanted to add the rider to his gig contract, but as demand for his unique style blew up Allura and Coran’s phones, they wore him down until he caved. They got him to write up his wishlist for the perfect shoot and plopped the whole thing on there for every fashion house and producer to see when they signed him on. It wasn’t _spoiled_ picky – just stipulations about breaks, provided craft services, makeup brands and ingredients, and personal space – but they were all just shy of being standard. It had barely been three months with the new contract, though, and he had yet to see anyone fulfill all of the requirements, and he was pretty sure the parts that they did were just happenstance. So, about six weeks ago, with just a little laugh from Allura and no one else the wiser, not even Keith, he slipped in a silly, innocent little check to the list, just to see who would catch it.

And so far, no one had.

* * *

The fitting went well enough, even if the designer got a little too familiar with his stump and made Keith growl loud enough to scare the intern. They marked out all the alterations they would need to make and scheduled a follow-up for next week with Allura, then let Shiro put his normal arm back on and escape. They were polite and pleasant, but few people in the fashion industry remembered to treat models like humans instead of blinking mannequins.

Keith had been scowling at his phone for most of the fitting, texting with the crinkle in his brow that meant it was work-related. As they walked to the photoshoot a few blocks away, Shiro watched Keith’s lip curl in centimeter stages. “Something wrong?” he asked.

Keith grunted. “James called out and there’s no one else free to work the line. Fucking Iverson’s trying to get me to cover his ass again.” He snorted. “I’m _busy_.”

Shiro sighed. “You should go.” Keith whipped to him, stopping on the sidewalk and getting glares from the women walking behind them. Shiro took a few more steps out of their way before turning around, cold wind brushing his ears as he held Keith’s affronted gaze. “You really shouldn’t be in the practice of arguing with your boss,” he explained. “Lord knows I’m not.” He smiled. “He obviously thinks you’re talented, or he wouldn’t be giving you a fourth chance like he has.” He shrugged. “And we could use the extra rent money.” He held out his hand. “I can get through a day on my own.”

Keith narrowed his eyes in a long glare, but groaned and shrugged Shiro’s duffel off his shoulder and dumped it on Shiro. “If you call me, I _will_ be on my way in two minutes.”

“Then I won’t call.” Keith glared. “I’m an _adult_ , Keith.”

“Debatable.” But Keith held up his fist for Shiro to bump. “I’ll let you know when I’m heading home.”

Shiro knocked their knuckles together. “Same. Go to work.” Keith shook his head hard enough that some hair flew out of his ponytail stub, but powerwalked back the way they came. Shiro watched his back for a moment, then turned back on his own path to the studio. It was only two blocks farther to the studio, but it was plenty of time for the anxiety to set in. It wasn’t like he never went to jobs alone, but it had been a while since the first visit to a location was without Keith or Allura. It would be _fine_. This was fine.

He paused in front of the door, a tiny alley gate with a narrow staircase visible through the ironwork. He stared at the steps, gathering his nerves. He could do this.

“Hi! Can I help you?”

Shiro blinked at the popup voice at his side. A kid in big glasses and a trim sweater smiled at him, balancing two tray holders of coffee cups. Shiro opened his mouth to answer – the kid gasped. “Oh my God! You’re Shiro!” He fumbled with his full hands as he rambled, “God, it’s so nice to meet you, you look exactly like your portfolio, it’s an honor-” He gave up on his hands and held out an elbow. His left. “Hi, I’m Lance,” he said, a little breathless, dark skin flushed from the cold. Shiro grinned and bumped his elbow in return.

“Hi there.” Shiro gestured at the door. “I’m guess you work for, uh… Studio Lux?”

Lance giggled. “Yeah! I’m the PA who drew the short straw today!” His eyes widened behind his crooked glasses. “Oh, uh, not that it’s bad to work with you – I’m _so excited_ to work with you-” He slammed his mouth shut, lips bit closed. Shiro grinned.

“That’s okay.” He reached for the door and held it open for Lance. “Sorry to make you work on your break, but could you lead the way? I’ve never been here before.”

“Oh, of course, I know you like to be met at the door!” He tried and failed to adjust his glasses with his shoulder. “Shouldn’t even let you hold the door for me at all…” he mumbled as he went in and started up the stairs. Shiro followed him in, the door clanging shit behind him. “Don’t worry, though, Mr. Shiro!” he called over his shoulder. “Everything’s all set for you already!”

“Please, just Shiro is fine.”

“Oh – oh, okay, cool! I wasn’t sure about that.” Lance giggled again. “That was, like, the only thing that wasn’t on your list.”

Shiro sucked in a little breath. “My list?”

“Well, yeah! Gotta make sure you have a good time, right?” He paused at the door at the top of the stairs, preparing to wiggle his coffee load around to free a few fingers for the doorknob.

Shiro shook his head and stepped up by Lance on the landing, resting his prosthetic forearm on Lance’s back as he opened the door. “Lead the way,” he said.

Lance laughed, cracking on the end. “Hah! Sure, yeah, okay!” He wove through the pillars of the entrance, chatterbox clamped shut as the ambient noises of the studio grew. Lance shouldered open a leaf of a double door. “I come bearing gifts!” he called inside.

“About time,” a low male voice drawled. Bodies descended on Lance’s coffee trays, taking the cups and jostling him around. Shiro stepped away from the chaos, back pressed to the door. The owner of the drawl looked him over from behind his coffee cup. “So, you’re Shiro, huh.” Shiro nodded. The drawler smiled and held out a hand. His right. “I’m Rolo, your photographer for the day. Nice to meet you.”

Shiro stared down at the hand, stump twitching. “Uh…”

“ _Your other hand_ ,” someone hissed. Shiro blinked at the hiss and just caught Lance looking away. Rolo tilted his head, but shrugged and switched to his left. Shiro took it, Rolo’s grip limp and warm.

“Nice to meet you, too.” Shiro adjusted the duffel on his shoulder so it didn’t cut so much into his harness. “So. Where do you want me?”

“Right where you are,” an older blonde lady said, smiling like a politician and nodding over her coffee cup. “Hi, Shiro, nice to meet you in person, and welcome to Studio Lux. I’m Luxia.” She left Lance to his coworkers, who were teasing him like a kid brother about how long he took to get coffee. “We’ve still got to get the set finished,” she said in a lilting voice and a head tilt that caught on the coffee crew and made them scatter back to their real jobs, leaving a flustered Lance holding empty cardboard in their wake. She smiled at Shiro. “If you don’t mind, we’ll go ahead and get you in makeup.” She cut her eyes at her PA. “Lance.” He jumped, clutching the coffee trays to his chest. “Help him with his things.”

“Right!” He dumped the coffee trays in the trash can by the door, taking Shiro’s duffel and helping Shiro out of his coat. He didn’t really need it, but he let it happen so Lance wouldn’t get yelled at again.

As Shiro’s arm came out of his coat sleeve, though, Luxia’s face fell a little. “Oh. I thought…”

Shiro’s smile quirked. “Don’t worry, ma’am, this is just my street arm. The one you paid for’s in there,” he explained, gesturing at the duffel in Lance’s hands. “I’ll change them while we do makeup.”

Her smile came back with a little laugh, a deep alto. “That’s a new one, ‘changing arms’. I’m looking forward to working with you today, but for now…” She waved her coffee back at the set, and he nodded.

“Don’t let me keep you,” he said.

She took a long drag of her coffee, eyes clenched closed, then huffed and set her heels on the concrete. “Okay. Back to work.” He grinned. She flicked her eyes at Lance. “Take him over to Nyma’s station.”

“Yes ma’am!” She clicked away as Lance juggled Shiro’s coat and bag. Shiro couldn’t help but smile, taking the coat from him to make it easier. Lance turned big eyes up at him, glasses crooked the other way from earlier. “You didn’t have to do that,” he breathed.

“But I did.” He waved for Lance to lead. “Keep on keeping on, then.” Lance cleared his throat and straightened his glasses and his posture, marching off to the curtained-off back corner of the studio.

A tall blonde was frowning as she rifled through the contents of the crowded makeup vanity. “ _Lance_ ,” she growled, glaring over her shoulder at their approach. “Where did you put my – _everything?_ ” She narrowed her big blue eyes, heavy mascara making them even brighter. “Did you _seriously_ forget my damned _moisturizer?_ ”

“I didn’t _forget!_ ” Lance gasped, hand to his chest as he tucked Shiro’s duffel behind the vanity and hooked Shiro’s coat on the corner of the mirror. “I just only put out the stuff out that he’s not allergic to!”

“ _Allergic?_ How did _you_ know that?” Shiro glanced over the vanity as he sat down. He had had some bad reactions to certain common ingredients in the past, so he had always had to keep a close eye on what they tried to put on his skin… but it seemed that Lance was right. He _had_ only put out the stuff that he wasn’t allergic to.

Lance’s costume indignation settled into confusion, eyes shining over his pout. “It’s… in his contract?” Lance offered, shrinking away. His eyes flicked to Shiro. “I am right, right?”

Shiro smiled, a bubble in his chest growing. “Yeah, you’re right.” To Nyma, he explained, “Fragrances and parabens make me break out if they sit on my skin too long. Sorry.”

Lance huffed. “What’re _you_ sorry for? You can’t control your skin.” At Nyma’s glare, though, he shrank back against the wall again. Nyma groaned. “Sorry,” he whispered.

Nyma glared at him again, but huffed and dug through her bottles again for a plain black tub. “So annoying,” she grumbled. Lance looked down and away, biting his lip, cheeks red. Shiro frowned.

“Thanks, Lance,” he said, a little louder than he would normally talk at a shoot. Lance jerked up, eyes wide behind his crooked glasses. Shiro smiled. “I really appreciate it.”

Lance grinned, as lopsided as his glasses. He pushed off the wall with a little _oh!_ , digging in his back pocket. “Right! This is for you!” He fiddled with a bit of paper until it fluffed out into a beaten-up origami crane, corners a little uneven and colored over with a blue highlighter. “Sorry if it sucks,” he said, holding it out for Shiro. “It’s been a while since I learned how to make these.”

Shiro swallowed, reaching out to take it, their fingers brushing. “Oh.” He held it by the tail, staring down at the pen swirls doodled on the wings. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Lance clapped his hands together. “Welp!” He beamed, eyes shining. “You just holler if you need me! Everyone else does!” He laughed, wagging his fingers in a wave as he skipped off to the next emergency.

Nyma shook her head as she scooped out a fingerful of moisturizer to smear it over Shiro’s face. Shiro spun the crane between his fingers, watching it twirl in the mirror. “So obnoxious,” she muttered. Shiro’s throat closed up; he just shrugged and let her work.

* * *

It took almost an hour for Nyma to finish his makeup, as usual. He escaped her hands for a few seconds at some point to trade Lance’s crane for his phone in his coat pocket, texting Allura about the rest of his day and some of tomorrow. She wasn’t happy to hear that Keith had to bail, but responded with six exclamation points when he told her about the crane. He didn’t tell her it seemed to be just one picked-on PA while Nyma could potentially read his screen, but he was definitely putting in a good word for Lance with the agency alter. He didn’t deserve to be treated like these people were treating him.

Lance popped up by his mirror, checking in like he had been doing every fifteen minutes or so during makeup. Nyma rolled her eyes, but both Shiro and Lance ignored her as Lance told him, bright and bubbly, “Looking good!” Shiro held back his smile since Nyma was bent in close to work on his nose, big blue eyes glaring at his scar. If she asked, he would tell her it was impossible to completely cover up, but she didn’t, so he kept quiet. Lance leant a little to the side to keep his eye contact. “You doing okay? Need a break or anything?”

Nyma tilted Shiro’s chin up with two fingers, still working on his nose. “Lance, I swear, I’m almost done, if you pull him away now-”

“I know, I know, but – isn’t that for him to decide, not us?” Nyma cut her eyes over his shoulder at him, and he held up his hands in defense. “Just trying to keep to the contract, babe.”

“I’ll shove that contract up your _ass_ , _babe_ ,” she mumbled so only Shiro heard. Shiro raised an eyebrow at her. She was quiet and professional when it was just them, but something about Lance brought out her mean streak – and brought out Shiro’s talkative, contrary streak. “Stop moving,” she snapped, and he cracked.

“Actually,” he said, “I wouldn’t mind a few minutes before the shoot starts.” He gave a beaming Lance and a grit Nyma a smile. “I need to change my arm out before you get too into my hair, anyway.” She groaned and, after one last glare at Lance, stomped off to go complain to the photographer. Lance slid in to take her place at his side, not in his face but present. “Thank you for that,” Shiro said. Lance flapped a hand.

“Oh, no problem, I just want you to have a good time here.” He adjusted his glasses over his bright eyes. “So, do you need anything, or should I get out of your hair?”

“Water would be great, actually.”

“Sure! Room temp, right?” Lance asked, pushing off his lean against the vanity.

Shiro chuckled. “You really did memorize my contract, huh?”

Lance flushed, biting his lip. “Well, uh, yeah. I mean… most models don’t have stuff like that, so I figured it must be important, and…” He shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess I just… really like your work.”

“Oh.” Shiro’s palm tingled. “That’s… nice.”

Lance coughed. “So, water, yeah?”

“Please.” He glanced at his tucked-away duffel. “How mad do you think she’ll be if I eat lunch before I change arms?” he asked.

Lance laughed, a loud bark. “Oh, _super_ mad!” He reached out to nudge Shiro’s arm – jerked away before he made contact. “I’ll head her off at the pass,” he said. “You eat, take a few minutes to get your head on straight before she attacks it with a hair dryer.” Shiro chuckled as he got out of his chair, kneeling down in front of his duffel to dig out his salad and chopped-up pear. “I’ll be right back, ‘kay?” Shiro nodded, and Lance bounced off, pulling the sheet hanging from the ceiling just a bit more to block him from view. Shiro balanced the Tupperware in his lap, staring at his gold stardust cheeks in the mirror as he chewed.

“He’s doing _what?_ ” the makeup artist’s voice screeched somewhere behind him. Shiro grinned.

* * *

Somehow, Shiro and Lance survived the dressing-down by the makeup artist for messing up her work and making her redo everything around his mouth before finishing his hair. Despite the crew being typically oblivious to his needs, Lance’s not-so-subtle interference meant that he was having a pleasant experience for the first time in a while at a job. Keith could glare until kingdom come, but he was just as bad as Shiro at actually telling people what to do or not do. Lance got it done and didn’t make Shiro feel like a primadonna about it.

Once hair and makeup were done and Shiro’s normal arm was replaced with his galaxy-patterned one, Nyma released him to the designer and her stylist, who held up clothes to the semi-transparent purple of his arm, cooing over the shine but cursing how it clashed with half of their line. The offer of the other fashion arm in his duffel sat heavy on his tongue, but they hadn’t paid for it, and Allura would flip her lid if he went out of contract. They were designers – they could make it work.

It made sense why they had requested his galaxy arm – the shoot itself was to promote their new space-themed spring/summer line that was supposed to hit the racks in a few months, covered in stars and nebulas and deep jewel tones. The upper and forearm covers of this arm were a translucent purple, dotted with gold glitter and streaks of shiny violet and pink, the bars of the support structure shadows through the plastic. It was his newest one and the latest baby of his prosthetic technician, crooned over for many long nights in Matt’s lab and buffed to a glossy shine. He almost didn’t give it to Shiro when it was done – Keith had to kick him in the shin and wrench it out of his arms while he wept over his artisanship. It had been in high demand ever since, every other shoot or walk requesting it out of his four fashion options.

The exchange for its aesthetic value was its usefulness. It had a black and purple plastic hand at the end that wasn’t hooked to any controls – thick harnesses tended to mess up the lines of whatever clothes were put on him. He really only had the one shoulder loop to keep it on his body and a swing lock for his elbow. When he spent most of his life with his functional hook arm, it was always a little jarring to not be able to pick up things and have five fingers on display again with his fashion arms. But, they looked amazing in his portfolio, and once he was over the shock, they were fun to wear.

The designer duo finally settled on a line of outfits for him to rotate through, helping him into them as they chattered around him. The first one was some sleeveless soft… thing, purple jeans, and a spackled button-up tied around his waist. He let them lace up the too-high boots as he glanced over the set they were almost done assembling. They had draped a lot of glittery gauze everywhere, silvery blue backdrops to the mostly purple and gold clothing. Maybe he might get something Allura would approve of enough to put in his portfolio out of this.

The crew had a lot of energy, yelling at each other with a lot of laugher and smiles. Shiro expected Lance’s bubbly blue to fit right in, but he ducked around the noise, taking care of all the little things to either indifference or derision when he messed up. Shiro frowned.

“Yo, Shiro.” Shiro jerked out of his daze as the drawly photographer looked over his shoulder at him with a lazy cat blink. “Ready?”

Shiro nodded. “Tell me where to go.”

* * *

The photoshoot was going fine. Rolo and his team were fine directors, the three costume changes they had put him through so far were fine, and the way they weren’t grilling him about his life but just letting him sit still and look pretty was exactly fine. He didn’t mind being treated like an object if it meant no one asked how he lost his arm or tried to make him laugh with a lame joke about the subway system.

On the fourth and next to last costume change, Rolo looked at the viewscreen of his camera after a shot and sighed. “Shiro, move your hand, please. …Your other hand.” He sighed again and dropped his camera to hang by the strap around his neck, stepping over tulle to get to Shiro’s perch on some satin-hidden stool. He reached out to curl Shiro’s plastic fingers tighter. The blood rushed to Shiro’s head, white noise flooding him and drowning out whatever Rolo was saying. He was _saying_ something, he was supposed to _respond_ -

“What are you _doing?_ ”

The whole studio turned to stare at Lance, arms full of tulle and face bright red and _angry_. Shiro blinked, his blurry vision focusing in on the shine of his glasses and clenched teeth. He glared daggers at Rolo from thirty feet away, tulle crinkling in his arms. “ _Don’t touch_ his fucking _arm_ , you _moron!_ ”

“ _Lance_.” Lance froze up at the producer’s sharp tone, her pleasant features hard behind glitter eyeshadow. He hung his head, mumbled something, and followed her point to a side door, everyone parting the seas for their exit, muttering after him.

Rolo shook his head, then turned back to Shiro. “Sorry about that, man.” He gestured at Shiro’s plastic hand. “Think you would mind curling that up for me?”

Shiro swallowed on a tight throat. “Uh.” He tightened the fist as far as it would go, hand shaking hard enough to make the plastic rattle in its joints.

Rolo frowned at it, but shrugged and backed off the set. “Good enough, I guess.”  He got back into position, camera up. “Now look left.” Shiro obeyed, taking a few deep breaths through his nose as he settled back into his headspace.

* * *

The shoot wrapped up quickly after that, the designer releasing his street clothes back to him and Nyma wiping off his face with just a little more vigor than necessary. It felt good to put on his normal arm again, the heavier weight and sturdier harness a warm hug after the featherweight of the galaxy arm.

The studio was already moving on to the next job by the time he was cleaned up, mood back to the high energy of earlier. Shiro waved at the producer as he let himself out, but she was on the phone while directing the teardown and setup of the sets and just flapped a hand at him in dismissive acknowledgement.

It was still cold outside when he reached the rickety stairs, air thin but bracing. He paused to take a few deep breaths at the top landing, head clearing as the city noises below helped him fade back into who he liked to be.

One of the noises was too close to be from the sidewalk. He opened his eyes and looked down the stairs at the thin, wrapped-up figure bundled up on one of the bottom steps, hands clenched in his coat on either side of his back and honey brown hair tufting out from under his hat. Shiro frowned and went down the stairs as quietly as he could, but not so quiet that he would surprise them, and sat down next to him. “You okay?” he asked.

Lance jerked and swung to stare at him, the red around his eyes making the blue stand out even more. “Shiro?” he sniffed, nudging his glasses up to wipe at his eyes with his scarf. “Oh, no, I’m…” He buried his face in the lumpy knit, bare fingers red and shaky. “I got fired,” he mumbled through the wool. Shiro sighed.

“That’s too bad.” He nudged Lance with his shoulder. “They didn’t deserve you, anyway, you know.”

Lance laughed, almost a sob. “Yeah, well I guess I don’t deserve _employment_.” He wiped at his eyes again before dropping his scarf, staring up at the grid of white sky visible through the latticework of the distant iron covering. “I keep doing this,” he told it, voice low and raw. “I get too invested in the models’ wellbeing, and no one else gets it, and they ditch me for someone who doesn’t fight back.” He sniffed again. “I just can’t stand watching real people get treated like… like they’re hollow inside, y’know?” He glanced over at Shiro, back at his knees. “Sorry if I went a little… overboard,” he said, chewing on his lip.

Shiro set his jaw. “Actually.” Lance looked up. “You ‘going overboard’ has been the best part of today.” Lance’s breath caught. Shiro dug in his coat pocket, pulling out both his phone and the crushed-up paper crane. He set his phone on his lap as he held the crane out on his open palm. “This is the first one of these I’ve _ever_ gotten,” he explained to Lance’s wide eyes. “And I’ve had the request rider in my contract since fashion week.”

Lance stared at the crane, picking it off Shiro’s palm by the corner of a wing. “Really?”

“Really, really.” Shiro unlocked his phone while Lance flapped the wings of his crane, a shaky smile tugging at his mouth. Shiro hit call and held the phone up to his ear, listening to it ring as he watch Lance’s long fingers move.

“ _Shiro, love, I’ll have you know that was an excellent nap,”_ Allura moaned into the phone.

“Stop sleeping on the job, then.” Lance glanced at him, and Shiro held his gaze. “I think I might have a solution to one of your problems.”

“ _Which one? You’ll need to be more specific or I’m going back to sleep._ ”

“The ‘you need better help’ one.” Lance blinked at him, and Shiro smiled. “I think I found my new assistant.”

“ _You did?_ ” Feedback rustled on the other end. “ _Well, go on_.”

“His name’s Lance,” he told her, watching Lance’s beam grow like a sunrise. “He was the PA on the shoot just now. He made me the paper crane.”

“ _Ooh… oh, I heard that ‘was’._ ” She hummed. “ _Is this one of your charity cases again? I can’t deal with another Keith_.”

Shiro chuckled. “Only a little bit. I would have told you to steal him for the agency anyway, but this just cuts to the point.” Lance gripped his elbow, shaking his arm with his full body rocking, teeth grit against a high-pitched whine. Shiro laughed. “Would you like to talk to him?”

“ _Yes, yes, put him on!_ ” Shiro handed the phone over to Lance, who snatched it up and slammed it against the side of his face.

“Hi, yes, this is Lance, Lance McClain, and I have _no_ idea what’s going on but I’m _so_ in!” Shiro could hear Allura’s laugh, but her words afterwards were just low enough that he couldn’t catch them. Lanced nodded vigorously, though, smiling so hard Shiro’s face hurt in sympathy. “Yeah – yes ma’am, I can start today! No problem!” He listened for a while, nodding and humming understanding every now and then. After a minute or so, his eyes bugged out. “It’s _what_ now?” He cleared his throat and replied with less of a crack, “I mean, um, yeah, that sounds fine, great, awesome, I can do that.” Another long listen. “That’s okay, I understand, totally cool.” He grinned. “Sounds great! Can’t wait!” He turned his grin on Shiro. “Sure, here he is. Really looking forward to working with you, ma’am!” He held the phone out to Shiro, grin threatening to break his face. Shiro took it with a smile, holding the warm screen to his ear. Lance bounced to his feet, jumping down the last three steps to pace by the door, energy escaping his skinny body however it could.

“ _I_ do _hope you know what you’re doing_ ,” she said. He huffed.

“ _Thanks_ , Allura. Inspiring.”

“ _I try to be_.” She sighed. “ _Well, he agreed for us to put him as your probation assistant until Coran and I come stateside next weekend and can conduct a proper interview. Now move, you’ve got an audition in twenty minutes._ ”

He rolled his eyes. “Understood, princess.”

“ _And stop calling me that!_ ” She hung up.

He chuckled and stood, sticking his phone in his pocket and watching Lance rear back and crow to the heavens, Peter Pan style. Shiro laughed, drawing Lance’s hyper attention again. “Happy?” Shiro asked.

“ _So_ happy, Shiro – sir.” His eyes widened behind his (still crooked) glasses. “Oh no, what am I supposed to call you _now?_ ”

Shiro laughed again, coming down to Lance’s level. “I promise, just Shiro is fine.” He opened the gate door for Lance, escaping potential prying eyes or accidental run-ins with the studio crew. They went down the block to a brick ledge inset just big enough for them to sit and rest their bags on. Shiro turned to face Lance, folding a leg between them, knee bumping Lance’s thigh. Lance was still glowing, breath misting up his glasses and hands gripping the leather strap of his messenger bag. Shiro pushed his smile away, gripping his jeans and folding his prosthetic in close to his body. “I’ll let Coran and Allura handle the paperwork details, since they’ll be your real bosses,” he said, “but this right here is between you and me.” Lance blinked at him, hair tufts lifting in the breeze. Shiro took a deep breath, buying time to pull his thoughts together. “I don’t need you to wait on me, or never tell me no, or kill yourself to make my life a little easier.” He exhaled, keeping Lance’s sky blue contact. “I need you to get _angry_ for me.”

Lance frowned. “Um… I’m not exactly a rage machine, and I have no idea how to punch someone right-”

Shiro shook his head. “Not like that. Like…” He waved his hand upwards in the studio’s vague direction. “Like you did up there. I’m…” He clenched his fist. “I’m not... really great at that.” He smiled. “So I guess I’m asking you to get offended on my behalf.”

“Holy shit.” Lance’s breath misted in the chill with his slow exhale. “ _Dream job_.” Shiro laughed, and Lance grinned. “So. Where do I start?” he asked, rubbing his hands together.

“Well, I’ve got an audition for a show in fifteen minutes around the corner…” He bit back a curse. “But I’ve got a shoot right after that that wants one of my arms I left at home.”

“Hmm…” Lance drummed a fast rhythm on his leg. “And where do you live?”

Shiro’s smile twitched. “Brooklyn.”

“Fuck.” He tugged his hat down hard, then sprang back up. “Okay, do you want me to go get the arm, or run interference at the audition until you can get back?”

“…By the time I’d get back, it would probably be over.” He pulled his duffel into his lap and dug through the side pockets for his keys. He handed them over, followed by his unlocked phone. “Here. Put your contact information in. I’ll send you the address and how to get in, and what you’re looking for.” Lance nodded and took both items, typing faster than even Allura and handing it back in less than thirty seconds. “It’s a floral-printed arm-”

“-With the hydrangeas on it?” Shiro blinked, and Lance shrugged. “It’s – distinctive on your Insta.”

“Oh. Right.” Shiro pushed past that. “It’ll be in a red duffel like this one in my room.” He scratched his jaw. “Sorry to make you do this as your first thing-”

“No way! It’s what you need, right?” Lance grinned, bare hands braced on the dirty concrete. “Besides, _you’re_ the one going on a limb and inviting a stranger into your home unsupervised.” He winked, and Shiro laughed as they both stood.

“Yeah, my roommate might kill me for it…” He hummed. “Do you like dogs?” he asked.

Lance shrugged. “Sure, who doesn’t?”

“Well, if you have some time, you could let my roommate’s dog out for a bit. Might help him like you. He’s my best friend on top of my roommate, and a little… overprotective.”

“Gee, I wonder why.” Lance held out his hand – his left hand. “Don’t worry, I am _on_ the case!”

Shiro shook on it. “Thanks, Lance. I appreciate it.”

“No, that’s _my_ line.” Lance bit his lip – dove in for a hug, face pressed hard into Shiro’s shoulder and arms tight around his ribs. “Seriously, thanks,” he told Shiro’s coat. “I’m gonna be the best damn assistant you’ve ever _seen_.”

Shiro patted his back, prosthetic held out to the side. “I know you will.” Lance sniffed – he was still a little watery after all – and pulled back, hands clinging to Shiro’s sides before they fell away. Shiro flipped the puffball on Lance’s hat. “Now go, or we’ll both be late.” Lance nodded, waving as he ran off – in the wrong direction. Shiro shook his head and pulled out his phone to text him the right directions and address, hefting his duffel over his shoulder as he walked to where Coran said this audition was. He unlocked his phone to the contact page Lance just made – snorted. _America’s Next Top Assistant_. He smiled, then opened their empty text message window, picking up his walking pace as he typed. He still had a full day ahead of him, after all.


End file.
